


Unchained Melody

by Sakunade



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV, 威神V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a sad ending, Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Did I tag enough angst to make my point?, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Heavy Angst, M/M, Pining, Prince Dong Si Cheng | WinWin, Royal Knight Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, Seriously - MCD means MCD, Smut, past and present tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakunade/pseuds/Sakunade
Summary: Time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much.Fifteen years have passed and Yoonoh still recalls the moment he first saw Prince Sicheng. He knew it was an ill-fated love but he cared not. His heart hungered for the prince’s touch, ever silent and steadfast in his service. The bells in the temple ring out, summoning Yoonoh to answer their call and he knows the sun is rising far too soon. Even now, he still needs Sicheng’s love, needs the warmth of the prince’s hand in his.Originally written for CoffeePrince Jaehyun ficfest, submitted for JaeWin Summer FicFest 2020.Original Prompt: #CP007: Jaehyun and Sicheng sway to the sound of bells. Only, the bells come from the shackles around Jaehyun’s feet as Sicheng helplessly watches.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44
Collections: Jaewin Summer Fic Fest 2020





	1. Midnight Summer to First Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for coming to this little story I wrote.
> 
> I wanted to remind people in case they missed the warnings - this story will have MCD (in Chp 3) and it is not a happy ending. I am sorry if that is what you came looking for.
> 
> There are two timelines happening simultaneously - the present, in which Yoonoh is in prison, and the past, which are his memories with Sicheng. Each shift is separated by *****.
> 
> In this, because the story takes place in China, I use Ten's Chinese name, Li Yong Qin.
> 
> This fic has been on quite a journey, and originally the prompt claimed from the CoffeePrince/Jaehyun ficfest. The fest ended up dying and I wanted to still write and finish this story, and thankfully, it was revitalized in the JaeWin Summer 2020 fic fest, where it was given a new home as a self-prompt! Thank you so much to the admins for letting me add it to their collection and bring this story to life! It was quite an emotional ride writing this and it pained me so much. 
> 
> Prompt Code: #CP007  
> Main Ship: Jaehyun/Winwin  
> Prompt: Jaehyun and Sicheng sway to the sound of bells. Only, the bells come from the shackles around Jaehyun’s feet as Sicheng helplessly watches.

Fifteen years have passed and he still recalls the moment he first met the young Prince as if it were yesterday. Even now, the grand temple bells ring out across the palace courtyard, signaling the end of evening prayer. Sicheng would be coming again soon, as he had every day for the last week, the only solace Yoonoh has had since his arrest. 

He remembers everything, so long ago and yet as if it were only days before and perhaps it has been, and this is nothing more than some fever dream. A delirium brought on by lack of food and hydration, days of torture, and no sleep. His sense of time has warped since entering the jail cell. It wouldn't be much longer now anyway. Damp, cold, stone walls surround him, no window to the outside world, and no bearing on time other than the bells. The bells are his only salvation, ringing twice daily. Sicheng always comes shortly after the end of the evening prayer, staying as long as he can before returning to the palace.

*****

A mere bastard child, only ten springs passed when his mother died, left with his father in the Emperor's court. His father had been regarded as one of the Emperor's strongest commanders, their friendship having seen many battles for peace over the years. A good man, proud and loyal to those he served, save for his wife. His father's heart had always belonged to a simple merchant's daughter and did not take the news of her passing well. Within a week, Yoonoh's father joined his mother and Yoonoh was left in the service of the Emperor.

The Emperor himself had three sons, the eldest Kun, the Crown Prince. The youngest was Renjun, barely a year had passed since his birth. However, it was the middle son, the young Prince, Sicheng that Yoonoh would swear fealty to. He had yet to see the Prince in the short time spent with his father in the palace, and it wasn't until the funeral rites that he laid eyes on him. 

Yoonoh felt the moisture leave his throat as he swallowed. The young Prince stood near the Emperor, dark auburn hair framing his round face. He held his head down, lowered in respect but still maintained a regal aura to him. He appeared to be the same age as Yoonoh, only more refined and radiating the gentle power of his status. The tiniest puckering at the tips of his ears reminded Yoonoh of the fairy stories his mother had once told him, of elves and woodfolk. The young Prince was the most ethereal, beautiful thing Yoonoh had ever seen in the entirety of his life.

After accepting the last of his father’s funeral rites, Yoonoh was brought before the Emperor in the throne room the same evening. It was then that they first spoke, though looking back now, Yoonoh wished he had made less of a fool of himself. He approached the dais where the Emperor and his son sat, looking down at him from their golden perch. Behind them, the dueling dragon insignia stared down from its decorative inlay above the throne. Prince Sicheng silent, an inquisitive tilt to his head as he watched Yoonoh’s approach, and under the intensity of his charcoal gaze, Yoonoh felt his knees give out. He dropped to one knee, graceful as a newborn calf, and tried to look anywhere but at the young Prince. However his eyes wandered upwards, and his heart raced at the beautiful smile the Prince gifted him. 

“Your Imperial Highness,” he mumbled, feeling the heat crawling across his cheeks to his ears as he tried to recall the lessons his mother gave him when addressing royalty.

“You may stand in my presence, boy,” came the Emperor’s voice. He waved away the guards, a simple flick of his wrists sending them all scurrying away. “I give my condolences for the loss of both of your parents in such a short time. Your father was a good man, like a brother of blood, to me. Many years he spent in my service.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Yoonoh answered, with a deep bow of his head. 

“Your father served me and my family well, as did his father before, and his before that. Unfortunately, he bore no legitimate sons to his wife, meaning you are the only heir to his name. However, I am willing to honor this tradition and allow you to serve my son, to swear fealty to him in a lifetime of service lest he releases you from your oath. You will live here, be educated and learned, and trained as a knight. Will you swear to this?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I will take the oath.” 

“Excellent, I look forward to welcoming you to our court and family. We will begin your training tomorrow morning at midday. Sicheng, go greet your paladin,” the Emperor acknowledged, clasping his hands together with a jovial smile. He motioned to the young Prince to approach Yoonoh with a tick of his head. Sicheng nodded in agreement with his father as he rose to his feet, and glided down the stairs.

“You may stand, and follow me. I will show you to your chambers,” Sicheng spoke, and by the gods, Yoonoh thought angelic spirits were talking to him. 

Hesitantly, Yoonoh rose to his feet, wobbling slightly in front of the Prince as he tried to stand as tall as possible. He managed, but only just, to make himself taller by a hair and the corner of Sicheng’s mouth curled upward into a small smile. Yoonoh bowed again to the Emperor and turned to follow Sicheng out of the throne room. Yoonoh kept two steps behind the young Prince as they walked through the bright crimson halls, the soft padding of their boots against the tiles echoing through the halls. 

“What is your name, paladin?” The Prince broke the peaceful silence, turning to look over his shoulder as he slowed his pace. “I suppose we’ll be together for quite some time, so I should at least know how you prefer to be addressed.”

“I am Jung Yoonoh, son of Jung Chae Won, Your Highness.” 

“You may call me Sicheng in private, between ourselves. We shall be good friends, I think. Or at least, I hope we will. It gets very lonely and my brother is too busy to play with me. He will take over for Father and has no interest in ‘childish games’ as if he weren’t only 3 years older!” Sicheng laughed, a soft melodic sound, and Yoonoh thought he could get used to hearing that sound every day. The Prince turned down a long corridor, a series of towering columns lining either side. “Your bed-chamber will be near the other servants for now until you complete your training. But it’s close to the kitchens, which means you can get extra treats from the cooks.”

“Do you like many treats, Your Highness?”

“I told you, call me Sicheng. I’d hate to have to order you to do so. And yes, the cooks make the most delicious honey biscuits! My chambermaids sometimes bring them to me after my bath, to encourage me to complete my studies. I like my studies well enough, but if I pretend not to, I know I can get an extra biscuit from them. I’ll share them with you next time!”

The young Prince stopped outside of one of the wooden doors, sliding the ornate door open to the humble dwelling. Yoonoh hadn’t expected much, having shared a single room with his mother, but their entire home would have fit inside this chamber thrice over. Simple by royal standards, yet far grander than anything else he had seen in his life. A raised bed to one side, space to keep warm in the harsh winter, and a small table with a basin for washing and relieving oneself. There was a small desk nestled near the window, carved of fine sandalwood. 

The Prince stepped inside, holding his hands behind his back as he turned around in the center of the room, taking in the layout. He stopped when he faced Yoonoh, reaching out to pull him to the room. Sicheng let his grip on Yoonoh’s sleeve linger, fingers wrapped onto the black silk of his robe as he took a step closer. “Is this to your liking? If you don’t approve, I will ask Father to find another room for you. Perhaps closer to mine?”

“No, thank you, Your High-uh, Sicheng,” Yoonoh quickly answered, bowing his head to the Prince. In doing so, he missed the brief flash of hopefulness that slipped away from Sicheng’s eyes. “Your father is too kind to grant me this much.”

“You learn fast, Yoonoh. I’ll leave you here then,” Sicheng mused, tilting his head to the side as his dark eyes flitted over Yoonoh’s young features. Chubby cheeks still full of fat, colored from spending more time working in the fields rather than indoors. Hair lightened by the sun, and deep pools of dimples. He smiled to himself as he passed by Yoonoh, stepping down into the hallway. “Until tomorrow.”

A week later was the first time it happened, as it would many times after that. Yoonoh woke up the sound of someone sniffling outside of his room, a gentle rapping on the wooden door. Moonlight poured in through the window as he dragged himself from the bed, padding across the tile floor. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a yawn, sliding open the door to come face to face with the young Prince.

“Sicheng? What are you doing here? It’s late,” He mumbled, voice groggy with sleep. He peeked out of the door, looking up and down the hall to see if anyone else was around. He had quickly learned the servants often whispered in corners, and the young Prince coming to his room at this late hour would certainly raise some questions. “Come inside before someone sees you.”

“Kun told me a scary story before bed. He said there were ghosts in the palace,” Sicheng whined, wiping away a trail of tears from his stained cheeks. The sleeves of his sleeping dress covered with lines of snot, less than fitting for a Prince, especially at his age. He shuffled into the room past Yoonoh, feet dragging on the floor. “I heard noises outside of my room, scary sounds and voices, like -”

And Sicheng let out a strange moaning sound, something in this throat that only years later would Yoonoh recognize. “Can I stay here with you? At least until morning and I’ll sneak out before anyone sees!”

Yoonoh looked around his less than clean room. It was far from appropriate for the young Prince to be on this side of the palace, with the servants and guards. Even more so for him to be inside one of their rooms. He sighed and shook his head. “Sicheng, I don’t know if that’s-”

“Please Yoonoh!” Sicheng broke down even more, his nose dripping and lip quivering. “Kun said the Huapi will get me since I always skip my studies. You’re supposed to protect me, right?”

Yoonoh’s chest swelled at Sicheng’s words and the urge to fulfill the duties he had sworn himself fanned the flame in his heart. Sicheng was asking for his protection, trusted him to care for him, and Yoonoh was ready to face any ghost or demon in his name. “Come on then,” he whispered, taking Sicheng’s hand and leading him over to the bed. “It’s not as nice as yours though.”

“It’s okay, you’re here with me. I don’t mind,” Sicheng sniffled, jumping up onto the mattress and crawling over to the side closer to the wall. Yoonoh couldn’t help but smile as Sicheng bounced up and down a few times as if to test how comfortable and soft the bed would be. 

He crossed the room and took a cloth from beside the basin, dipping it into the water enough to wet the edges, and sat down on the bed. He reached over and wiped away some of the mess from Sicheng’s face, gently moving the cloth across his cheeks and down under his chin. “There, now you look more like a prince.”

Sicheng’s feet slid under the thick blankets, wiggling under the weight of the top comforter. He let out a sigh as he lifted the corner of the blanket for Yoonoh to join him. The young knight hesitated for only a moment, teeth digging into his lower lip, before climbing into the bed and under the covers. They faced each other, the moonlight in the window casting a silvery glow across Sicheng’s gentle features. Yoonoh wondered if he was even of this world and why his face felt so warm despite the cool air. 

A thin arm slid across his waist, pulling him closer until his forehead was pressed against Sicheng’s, and Yoonoh took a sharp breath through his nose. He kept close watch over his Prince, eyes slipping close as he succumbed to the darkness and the realm of sleep, the threat of ghosts lurking long forgotten. Warmth, comfort, and a strange burning in his chest had Yoonoh falling asleep faster than he wanted.

It became routine, almost every other night, in which Sicheng would sneak over to Yoonoh’s room in the dark of the night, claiming to be scared of one thing or another. Every time, Yoonoh was unable to protest or deny the young Prince, opening his bed for Sicheng to crawl under the covers with him. And if Sicheng’s lips curled into a sly smile every time as he tucked under his chin…Yoonoh never paid it any notice.

*****

The jingle of keys draws closer as the guard leads Sicheng down to the cell, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. “Yoonoh,” comes Sicheng’s voice, broken and worn out. He’s been crying from the sound of it, and Yoonoh’s chest aches. How much more will Sicheng have to suffer because of him? He can’t bring himself to smile, even though the sound of his name on Sicheng’s lips is all he wishes to hear over and over.

He turns to face the metal bars, the chains clinking together as he walks towards the door. Sicheng’s face is worn, eyes red and tired yet he still looked beautiful. Yoonoh reaches out through the bars, cupping Sicheng’s cheek and the Prince leans into his touch with a heavy sigh. Sicheng glances over his shoulder to the guard, his hand grabbing onto Yoonoh’s. “Open the door and leave us.”

“Your Highness, the advisor -” 

“Is not here and he is not above me, whatever he thinks. I order you to open this door and to leave this room. You may wait upstairs if you must, but there is much I need to say to this man, none of which is privy to your ears,” Sicheng commands, lips pulling into a tight line. He faces the guard head-on, head tilting to one side as he waits for the guard to follow orders. His patience wears thin the longer the guard hesitates before he snaps. “He will not harm me, I trust him with my life. Now stop wasting what little time he has left and open this door!”

Yoonoh’s hand slips away as he steps back, allowing the guard to unlock his cell without fear he would attempt to escape. The door creaks on its hinges, swinging open as Sicheng steps inside and out of place amongst the filth and scum, Yoonoh himself included. Sicheng says nothing else to the guard, just a wave of his wrist and the guard bows, disappearing up the stairs. The sound of the keys dangling at the guard’s hip fades as he leaves the dungeon stairwell. The brick door slams shut, leaving Sicheng and Yoonoh alone in silence.

Sicheng lets out a shaky breath as he turns to Yoonoh and all the strength he thought he had fails, throwing himself forward and into Yoonoh’s embrace. His arms slide around Yoonoh’s waist, delicate and thin from the lack of food; starved of food, starved of touch. Sicheng looks up into Yoonoh’s face, pale in the low torchlight outside of the cell, cheeks hollow, and losing their definition. Yet Sicheng could not love him any less, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss, conveying every emotion racing through his heart into the delicate touch. 

It’s Yoonoh who pulls away first, holding Sicheng’s face between his hands. His lips twitch into a weak smile, trying to force it to reach his eyes. “You came again,” he whispers, shaking his head. “You won’t have to come after this. You’ll finally be free of me.”

“I don’t want to be free of you. I refuse to allow you to end your service to me, even in death,” Sicheng buries his face in the crook of Yoonoh’s shoulder, tightening his grip around his, afraid to let go. “Why won’t you try to run? We can still make it away from here.”

“Would you love me still if I ran? Fleeing from my crimes and my punishment? Turning my back on the kingdom?” Yoonoh rests his chin on top of Sicheng’s head, his eyes close as he takes a deep breath. The smell of citrus and lavender fills his nose, and he holds onto it, sharp and sweet, beautiful and tart. “You know we wouldn’t make it that far. Yong Qin has eyes and ears everywhere and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you for attempting to run a second time, my love. I’m tired of running, of hiding.”

“I would rather die than to be without you, Yoonoh,” Sicheng chokes, and the tears flow freely. He doesn’t know how he still has enough left in him to cry, it’s all he has done since they were dragged back to the palace. “I would rather death take me than to marry that arrogant prince!”

Yoonoh understands all too well, and he lowers his head to the Prince. He too would rather die than to see Sicheng married to Prince Yuta. He truly does want to run, he wants to find a way out of here, with Sicheng. To take him across the seas to a faraway village where they could live in peace, together and the hole in his heart grows. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he meets Sicheng’s watery gaze. “You have to. It cannot be changed now.”

Sicheng says nothing as he takes Yoonoh’s hands in his own, turning them over to observe the palms. Rough, calloused, layers of grim along the nails. Still beautiful and he already misses the feeling of them. “Sit, let me wash your hands for you.”

“You don’t need to do that, Sicheng. That’s below your station,” Yoonoh says as he withdraws his hands, pulling them free from Sicheng’s grasp. 

“I don’t care about my station, Yoonoh. I want to. Will you no longer allow me to touch you?” Sicheng’s voice drops as he walks over to the small buckets on the floor, scanning the area for a rag. He’s not surprised to find none and instead looks down to tear a strip of fabric from his robes. He soaks it in the water and walks back over to the low cot Yoonoh has seated himself on. 

“You’re too beautiful for this, Sicheng. Too pure for someone like me,” Yoonoh whispers as Sicheng takes his hand and begins wiping away the dirt. His eyes soften as he lets out a sigh, relishing the feeling of Sicheng’s gentle hands. Just like the body they belong to, his hands had always been soft and pristine, beautifully delicate fingers. Graceful in their movements, heaven in their touch. He wants to speak, but there isn’t anything he can say to change the situation. There isn’t enough time to say everything he wants to, and his mouth has never felt so dry, but he tries to find a way to ease Sicheng’s worried mind. “I know you’re scared, Sicheng. But death spares no one. Yong Qin is only moving my marriage to death sooner, rather than later. Much like your marriage to Prince Yuta. It was always fated to be this way.”

“Then I spit on the fates that brought us here. Do not waste our precious little time left together on anyone other than you or me.”

*****

Six years had passed since the first night Sicheng had crawled into Yoonoh’s bed. After his mother died in childbirth the following year, Sicheng demanded Yoonoh’s room be moved closer to his own. His father agreed, and Yoonoh's old quarters were forgotten and he rested just around the corridor to the Prince. But almost every night, after all others had retired to their chambers for the night, Sicheng would come to Yoonoh's room and ask to sleep there.

It was harder now Yoonoh had grown into the ideal knight, surpassing Sicheng by at least two inches, to Sicheng’s endless praises about his height. Nevertheless, they managed, often waking far closer than they had fallen asleep, long limbs tangled together in the sheets. Yoonoh knew he should not be in such proximity to the Prince, not like this. But he savored the early mornings when the sun would rise along the horizon, Sicheng’s arm around his waist, nestled under the weighted comforters. The scent of Sicheng’s soap filled his nose, sweet like honeysuckle and milk. 

More often than not, Yoonoh found himself haunted by the most beautiful of dreams. Dreams of a crown of auburn hair spread out against plush pillows, dark almond eyes looking up into his own, of warm hands running down his back. He had spent enough time in the barracks training with other knights, older and more experienced than him, to know the feeling gnawing at his stomach. The teeth buried themselves deeper every time Sicheng snuck into his room and bed. The claws sharp in their grasp with each radiant smile, and even a fleeting touch along his arm burned through the layers of fabric. 

Yoonoh was almost a man, and old enough to realize his heart was leading him astray. He knew too well the heresy of his emotions and knew he would risk heaven and hell regardless. Lying awake in bed, the warmth of Sicheng’s body pressed against his side, he thought of Sicheng’s lips and what they might feel like against his own. He didn’t dare find out, despite the ever-growing temptation taunting him in the silvery light of the moon. Yoonoh cursed his fate, his wretched position, and pushed the thought as far from his mind as possible. Which he soon discovered to be near impossible to resist someone as exquisite and inviting as Sicheng.

Sicheng kept Yoonoh close at all times, requiring the young knight to stay in his presence. Anywhere the Prince went, his knight followed, a silent shadow watching over him. Yoonoh marveled in the Prince’s form during his sparring lessons, the fluid movements as he danced around his trainer. Beads of sweat rolling down his bare chest, guandao gripped tight in Sicheng’s hand. The ease as Sicheng mounted his horse before their afternoon rides around the gardens or venturing outside the palace, the graceful swing of his leg over the saddle. 

Yoonoh let himself fall further and further, and he didn’t care about the absurdity. Sicheng would be the death of him and he couldn’t care less. Perhaps it was because Sicheng had been his only friend growing up, and Sicheng spoiled him, doting endlessly far more than other knights or servants in the palace. The Prince made it clear that Yoonoh had his complete and unbroken trust, and neither his parents nor his brothers questioned his devotion to the knight. 

Their afternoon rides would often end in the library, where Sicheng would choose one of the many old scrolls or books and begin reading. Sometimes Renjun would join them, curling up in Yoonoh’s lap as Sicheng’s serene voice droned on about ancient kings and empresses, victories and conquests, love and life, and death. Seated on the cushions on the floor, his head in the Prince’s lap as Sicheng toyed with his hair, wrapping the dark honey strands around his long fingers. Nails scratching gently into his scalp, easing away any tension and stress in his body yet pulling his heartstrings so taut to the edge of snapping. 

Sicheng loved the lazy afternoons, the sun’s medallion rays shining through the large windows, the world at peace around them. He loved how Yoonoh would fall asleep, head heavy on his thigh, the soft flutter of his long eyelashes as he dreamt. The days without interference from others, when he had Yoonoh all to himself and they could talk about anything and nothing all at the same time. Yoonoh was a simple man, his conversations brief, to the point, and Sicheng loved the challenge of getting the knight to open himself more. Always together, yet worlds apart - Yoonoh always on guard, always with his defenses up and Sicheng wanted in.

A month before Sicheng’s 17th birthday, Yoonoh found himself listening to the addictive sound of Sicheng’s voice in the Prince’s chamber after dinner. He was lying on the floor, one knee propped up as he rested on an arm behind his head. Sicheng read from the children’s book for Renjun, but the youngest Prince had long fallen asleep across Yoonoh’s chest, a light snore from his parted lips. Renjun had begun to follow Yoonoh around endlessly, requesting the older to be his knight as well. Some days Yoonoh would acquiesce to the child’s demands, letting the Prince ride on his shoulders or upon his back. If only to hear the songful laughter from Sicheng’s lips and bask in his dazzling smile. 

“Sicheng, what is your favorite color?”

The question caught him by surprise, and Sicheng stopped in the middle of whatever sentence he had been reading. He had never given it much thought, it seemed like such a trivial thing to think about. Most of his outfits were chosen by his servants and designed to match whatever his father fancied. Moreso, he didn’t understand why it mattered so suddenly to Yoonoh. He frowned slightly, looking down at Yoonoh from his bed. “Why do you want to know my favorite color?”

Yoonoh choked up, the tips of his ears turning crimson red as they did whenever he tried to hide something. “It’s uh...it’s not that important. I just realized I’ve never asked.”

“I don’t really have one. Is there a color you prefer?” Sicheng replied with a carefree shrug as he closed the book. He leaned over the edge, resting his chin on his arm as he played with Renjun’s hair. 

Yoonoh smiled to himself, turning to face Sicheng with a deep breath. How to explain the exact shade of Sicheng’s skin in the light? Or the way the sun shone through his auburn hair, setting the color ablaze? The rich color of melted cocoa in his eyes? The juice of ripe persimmons as it rolled down his lips? There was never just one, but a bursting array of colors, and Sicheng was the most brilliant of all. Characterizing Sicheng as a single color was impossible. But Sicheng was his anchor, his sense of tranquility and balance. He loved most when Sicheng would be dressed in cerulean, the color of the skies above, a color he rarely wore save for special occasions. 

“Blue,” Yoonoh answered.

Sicheng said nothing in response, his fingers still playing with his brother’s hair. Instead, he studied Yoonoh’s sincerity. He had grown so much over the years, wide-set shoulders with tone muscles from countless hours spent training with his sword. Long golden hair kept in a messy bun near the top of his head, tied with a red corded tassel that often kissed the back of his neck. The last remnants of puberty clung to his cheeks and perhaps would never truly disappear, round and full of joy when he smiled, deep dimples on either side. Sicheng leaned to the side, moving to brush back Yoonoh’s bangs. “Then I like blue too.” 

Yoonoh felt his chest tightened at the Prince’s touch along his brow until Renjun tossed in his sleep. The youngest began to whine, demanding to be carried to his room by “his knight” to which Sicheng gave a warm laugh and helped get the boy situated in Yoonoh’s arms. Hours later, Sicheng made his way to Yoonoh’s room, as usual, claiming he couldn’t sleep. The turning of seasons had made his room too cold for comfort and he didn’t want to bother the servants with fetching the winter blankets. It wasn’t until the Prince was crawling under the covers, nestling up to him that Yoonoh realized the cobalt silk robes. 

The night of Sicheng’s birthday celebration had brought most of the kingdom to the palace for the special day. A rare opportunity for the commoners to experience the grand palace, to see the royal family and the three young Princes in their prime. Many favored Kun, his upcoming wedding planned for the following spring after the new year while Sicheng was regarded as the peaceful flower Prince and Renjun as the energetic young Prince. Although this was his day, Sicheng cared not for the grand displays of opulence. Had he been able to spend the day as he wished, he would have hidden away at one of the gazebos near the lake, enjoying the quiet splash of the fish beneath the wooden planks as he fed them bits of bread.

It was here Yoonoh found Sicheng, seated on the railing as he tossed crumbs into the water. Moonlight reflected off the glassy surface of the lake, broken by the hungry fish seeking their feast, casting silvery beams across his face. Sicheng turned to him as Yoonoh approached, leaning his head against the column to watch the knight close the distance between them. “You always know where to find me,” he said, a light tease to his tone. “No one knows me the way you do, Yoonoh.”

“As you do me, Sicheng,” Yoonoh replied. “Was there nothing amongst the gifts you fancied?”

“Nothing that matters. The things I want cannot be bought with money, nor do I think I will ever get what I want.” At this Sicheng exhaled, his eyes slipping closed as he turned back to the lake. He felt Yoonoh’s back against his leg, leaning back onto the railing and he let the warmth of the touch wash over him, comforting him. 

“Then...I suppose this wouldn’t matter either,” Yoonoh muttered and Sicheng’s eyes fluttered back open, glancing down to see Yoonoh reaching into his robes. He pulled a small velvet bag from his pockets, embroidered with gold leaflets and flowers. “It’s for your birthday, but it dulls in comparison to-”

Sicheng reached for the bag, pulling it from Yoonoh’s hand before the other could finish. He pulled at the strings and dumped the contents out into his palm. A single blue stone, wrapped in fine silver on a simple chain. His fingers turned the stone over, chewing at his lip as let out a soft chuckle. He closed his fist around the necklace, holding it to his chest as he looked up at Yoonoh, eyes bright and alive. “It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“I bought it. I’m sorry I can’t-”

“Don’t apologize, Yoonoh. This is the best present I’ve received. Put it on for me,” Sicheng pressed the necklace back into Yoonoh’s hand and swung his leg over the railing so his back was to him. 

Too much, it was far too much. Overwhelming in Yoonoh’s mind, too romantic. The sort of thing long-time lovers did. He heard the other guards talking about the times they had wooed a woman into their bed with jewels and charms, the sultry gazes exchanged in the shadowy light of the moon. And Sicheng was guiding his hair to one side, exposing the curve of his neck as he glanced over his shoulder to Yoonoh, waiting for his gift. For this time of year, it was suddenly far warmer than it had been the past few days. 

Yoonoh struggled to unclasp the hook, trying in vain to calm his shaking hands. It took a moment but finally, the necklace opened and he lowered the chain around Sicheng’s neck. His heart was strumming hard, trying to burst through his chest as the hook settled into place. Sicheng let his hair fall back down as he toyed with the stone falling between his collarbone. Yoonoh watched the curl of his mouth, the flash of his pearly teeth as Sicheng’s face came alive. 

“I’ll keep it on at all times. Thank you Yoonoh,” Sicheng whispered as he looked up at his knight. 

The sounds of celebration carried on in the distance, wafting over from the palace to the small gazebo. Sicheng was aware he had been gone too long, but it mattered little to him. He reached out to take Yoonoh’s hand, intertwining their fingers together. 

Six, nearing seven years and Yoonoh was still weak. He knew he had crossed the line of friendship between them, into something much stronger. The low burning embers catching fire from the first night Sicheng came to his bed, cheeks stained with tears, and the fears of ghosts chasing him. He thought it had been normal then, the desire to protect and defend. As Sicheng grew older, Yoonoh grew too. He knew what he felt, almost bold enough to confess. Yet always cowered back the moment the words tried to escape. Despite the little things the Prince would do, Yoonoh kept his silence and convinced himself Sicheng was just affectionate.

He was content with things as they were and his feelings were irrelevant. Yoonoh did not exist to satisfy his selfishness, but to serve Sicheng and whatever he wanted. His desires were his burden to bear, and painful longing in his heart was his suffering. Even at this moment, perfect with Sicheng looking up at him with great expectations, Yoonoh was content to stay forever with things as they were. Sicheng, leaning closer to the point where he could feel the touch of his breath against his skin. Close enough to count the lashes of his eyes and the tiny flecks of gold across the darkness of Sicheng’s irises. The slight part of his lips and the puffs of air escaping between them in the cool air. 

Across the courtyard, Yoonoh heard Renjun’s voice calling out to them and Sicheng’s gaze dampened as Yoonoh dropped his hand, quickly putting a safe distance between them.

“We should return to the party, Your Highness. They’ll be expecting the guest of honor.” The melancholy in his eyes as he nodded, glancing towards the palace.

“Is there no more to be said before we go back? I enjoy our time away from the eyes of others.” Sicheng took a step forward, reaching for Yoonoh yet his knight stepped back once more. The deafening silence broken only by the sound of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears. His hand went to the necklace around his throat, taking the gem between his long fingers. He nodded and bit his lip, a small toying at the corners, partly to himself but to Yoonoh as well. 

Some things spoke more than words ever could. 

“You’re right, we should return.”

Another month passed and soon after snow blanketed the palace under a white sheet of snow. The lake became a solid layer of ice, though fish still swam under the crystal glass surface. Soft powder covered the ground, branches bare of their summer greens. Goose feather curtains hung along the open archways to shield the palace from the icy winds outside while the corridors were lined with copper censers. 

They were in Sicheng’s room, as usual, curled up on the fur pelts laid out on the floor near the heat. Yoonoh’s head rested in Sicheng’s lap as he read from the latest books brought to the palace. Every few months, they were brought as gifts from the advisors from Siam in their efforts to guarantee an alliance between them. The Prince idly twirled strands of Yoonoh’s long hair between his fingers. Soft like velvet to the touch and scented with the light herbal soap he used. The deepness of Sicheng’s voice droned on, Yoonoh paying no attention to the actual plot. He was too lost in the heaven of Sicheng’s touch. 

At some point, he realized he could no longer hear Sicheng’s voice and he snapped out of his reverie, eyes shooting up to the Prince’s beautiful face. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. My mind wandered.”

“Lately, you seem to be more distant. What bothers you, my dutiful knight? Has someone finally stolen your heart?” Sicheng looked down at him in a way Yoonoh had never seen, almost lamentful and….scared.

He sat up, his back to the Prince as he shook his head. There were no words he could say to explain the hold Sicheng had on his heart, the vice-like grip around his soul. The key to everything rooted in Sicheng’s existence, and it was all Yoonoh could do to not confess. 

“Never. I only serve you.”

Behind him, he felt Sicheng shift closer, an arm sliding around his waist and the sharpness of his chin hooking over his shoulder. Yoonoh’s head swam with thoughts of Sicheng pressed up against him like this, the heat of the fires burning through his clothes. 

“Is that all I am? Someone to serve? Do all our years together really mean nothing?” 

The weakness in Sicheng’s voice had his heart flipping, throat dry like a drought. Swallowing brought no restitution and he needed to get away, the depths of his secret exposed and vulnerable. Yoonoh tried to stand but Sicheng tightened his hold, pulling him closer to his chest. Yoonoh closed his eyes and turned his head, afraid to look at the sight he knew was waiting for him. Pure, unfiltered, raw Sicheng. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to deny his Prince...his feelings much longer. 

“Yoonoh, what am I to you?”

It was a terrible fate, one he already knew would never end in his favor. A poor knight, raised in the palace, and in love with the Prince in a forbidden, unrequited romance. One he could never share with the world, and Yoonoh would only ever be his knight. Sicheng would eventually marry the highest bidder with the best political advantage to the kingdom, the whisperings already starting from his birthday party about potential suitors. 

Gods in heaven, Yoonoh hated himself for what he was about to do next. 

“Everything, Sicheng. My world is yours. You are the center of the sun and stars.”

“Then why do you always run away like I am a plague to be avoided when I try to get closer to you? Do you wish to be free of me?” Sicheng’s grip around his waist tightened once more, and with it, the chains around his heart. 

“Never, My Prince. Like that story you read of the boy with wings of wax, I fear flying too close to the sun and falling. Falling to a fate I cannot avoid.” His voice wavered as he let out the truth, weak and whispered. The secret he carried, buried deep, creeping into the light, no longer hidden in the shadows. His eyes burned, blurred with the wetness forming in them. Falling, slipping and there was nothing to catch him. Icarus, indeed. 

“Yoonoh…” The breaking sound of Sicheng’s voice was enough to finally bring Yoonoh to meet his gaze. Sicheng gave a weak smile, cupping his cheek. His thumb traced over the bone under his eye, catching the tears before they fell. “Can you not just say it then? Must you always speak in riddles and half-truths?”

“Must I say it for it to be true? Is it not obvious my feelings for you, Sicheng?” Yoonoh tried to turn his head, pulling his face from Sicheng’s hand but Sicheng held him in place. Many nights he imagined this, having Sicheng pressed warmly against him, yet now seem like a summer’s hazy reverie. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, My Prince.”

“Then kiss me.”

He didn’t know where it came from, or why. Looking at him, so close the fullness of his lips a hair’s breadth away. Confidence bubbled over, toppling over the edge as his eyes dropped to Sicheng’s waiting mouth. The burning embers inside him ignited and without realizing it, Yoonoh leaned forward to close the last breath of sanity between them. Lips moved together, tentatively at first. Savoring the feeling of them on his own, finally conceding to his heart’s desire. It deepened, each move eliciting another surge of emotions, a kaleidoscope of colors before him. The pounding of his heart harsh and loud in his ears, erratically beating against his chest so hard he thought it would explode. If he were to die here, with Sicheng in his arms, Yoonoh would die in heaven on earth. 

Yoonoh pulled away first, pressing his forehead to Sicheng as he lowered his gaze. “Sicheng, I-” 

Long fingers pressed against his lips, silencing him. “Don’t talk. Just do it again. Never stop as long as you are by my side.”

Yoonoh turned and pulled Sicheng fully into his arms, not letting the moment slip away now he had been given permission. Sicheng settled in his lap, one leg on either side his, perfectly settled as if it were the throne he deserved, their lips finding each other once more. Sicheng was sweet, like rambutan brought over by the court advisors to Siam. No longer wasting opportunities to indulge himself in these moments with Sicheng, Yoonoh drank in every bit he was given. Ready to drown in the endless ocean that was Sicheng.


	2. A Dream Without Blemishes

Sicheng watches Yoonoh resting on the pathetic excuse for a bed, eyes closed as his chest rises and falls in gentle breaths. He counts each one, knowing they are among the last he will take. He holds Yoonoh’s head in his lap, like all the times in years past. Ages ago, yet not long enough. Their time is being cut cruelly short, and he wishes for nothing else than stop the sands of time from falling. His breath is broken, choking back tears and Sicheng realizes the air never reaches his lungs. He refuses to tear his eyes away from Yoonoh’s angelic face, despite the harsh bruises and hollowed cheeks from the abuse of Yong Qin’s personal guards. 

Childhood seems long forgotten, the years of innocence and naivety. Why in the gods’ names did they have to grow up? Why had he been born into this wretched existence, a life of being spoiled and pampered beyond reason save for the time he needs most. It is so close, he knows that. He knows they cannot escape but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish for it. The inevitable creeps closer with each flicker of the burning torches around the prison. He can do nothing to stop the rising of the sun, and with it, the ringing of the morning bells. The bells that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Sicheng knows he will pay them penance twice a day, dutifully, until death takes him as well. 

He is going to watch his knight, his lover, his partner, die in only a few short hours and Sicheng refuses to let himself cry any more. Not for his sake, but for Yoonoh’s. He can’t show weakness to the man who swore to protect him. Their fingers lock together, and his heart shatters feeling the fear in Yoonoh’s touch. The tight grip nearly crushes his hand but he doesn’t care, for soon these touches would be no more. Time betrays them, as it always did, and soon enough he will be abandoned.

Yoonoh feels it as well. He regrets not telling him more how much he loved Sicheng. Regrets not telling him he loved him sooner and taking ages to admit his feelings. Sicheng is trying to be a pillar of strength in the darkness of this abyss, and Yoonoh sighs, opening his eyes to look up at his prince. “You shouldn’t have come tonight, Sicheng.”

“I couldn’t let you go without seeing you one last time,” Sicheng’s voice aches as he picks the matted strands of hair from Yoonoh’s face. His hair feels thinner than before, delicate like spun dragon’s beard candy and Sicheng knows Yoonoh is disappearing before his eyes. 

Silence settles between them with only the sounds of their hearts and breaths in the air. Then Yoonoh sits up, looking at the dull and bloodied iron around his ankles. “We should have left sooner before they suspected us. I should have taken you away from here the first night after the engagement announcement. Perhaps it would have gone differently then.”

“There are thousands of strings woven into the tapestries of time and the universe. Any one of them could have unraveled into any number of ways.” Sicheng slides closer to Yoonoh, fingers curling into the back of his shirt. He rests his head against Yoonoh’s back, teeth chewing his lower lip. “Do you regret it? Trying to find our happiness and freedom, knowing it brought us here?” 

“I would make the same decision a hundred times over if it meant a chance of happiness by your side, away from here. Even if it’s my death and I am to be blinded by the radiance of your smile, casting shadows to the sun, I would do it again.” Yoonoh fists the threadbare breeches he wears, knuckles turning white. Even now, with only a few hours left, he knows he speaks the truth. Nothing would have stopped him from taking Sicheng from this place. Away from the palace, and the courts. Away from plots and schemes where he was just a prize to be claimed for the sake of maintaining alliances. 

Sicheng clings to him like a lifeline, and somewhere in the distance, a crow cries out. His chest constricts and tightens, closing in on itself and he knows the morning comes too soon. Too soon will be the summer solstice, the festivals, and fireworks. The parades and dancers, musicians and performers tumbling in the streets. Colorful streamers and fine silks, luxury and opulence at all corners of the palace. All the beauty of life Yoonoh would never see again, and much too soon, the most beautiful thing in life would be wrenched from his arms. 

“Do you, my prince? Do you regret loving me?”

The raspiness of Yoonoh’s voice is like a stab to his already broken heart, and Sicheng holds him tighter. He feels Yoonoh’s body shaking as well, and he knows he is scared. One of the few times he’s ever seen his glorious, valiant knight show any fear. “I would force myself to hate you with every fiber of my being if it meant that you would not be in this cell. I would have sent you away from the palace the first day you were brought here, instead of succumbing to those beautiful dimples on fat cheeks. I don’t regret it, but I wish I could save you from this.”

Yoonoh sits up straighter and forces out a sardonic laugh. “You would never hate me.”

“I do. I hate you right now.” 

“Truly?”

Sicheng shakes his head against his back, unable to lie. “No. Despite this pain, I could never. I hate that must endure the rest of my days without you. I hate Yong Qin for his serpent tongue spilling smooth words and ideas into Kun’s head. I hate that I must give myself to Prince Yuta, a part of me I only shared with you. But no Yoonoh, my sweet love, my earth, and soul - I certainly do not hate you. Far from it.”

*****

Yoonoh relished in the heavenly vision before him, the exquisite curve of Sicheng’s graceful neck down to his chest. Raven black hair hanging down in sharp contrast to his light skin, a trail of goosebumps down his arms under Yoonoh’s fingers. No one else was blessed enough to see what the gods have graced him fortunate enough to see. Sicheng, soft yet hard, delicate and demanding. A perfect yin and yang embodied in one person. Every time they fell together like this, Yoonoh counted the spiraling galaxies in Sicheng’s eyes as he watched the robes slip from his shoulders to the floor until he was completely bare. 

His only sin was pure greed, wanting to always touch and hold Sicheng, even when he knew he should not. But it was impossible to control the urge, reaching out. Making sure this was not all some beautiful, torturous dream that would end if he got too close. Yet they were always close these days, closer now than before as Sicheng sat on Yoonoh’s lap, gently rocking back and forth on his cock. There was no urgency, no rush in their day. Just their own world between them. Yoonoh gently guided Sicheng’s hips in a languid rhythm, the sensations of Sicheng tight around him coursing through his body. 

He reached out, smiling as his fingers danced over the smoothness of Sicheng’s chest up to his nipples. The tiny nub peeked out between the strands of hair and Yoonoh brushed the hair over Sicheng’s shoulder. Teasingly, he took the bud between his fingers and gave a small pinch. Sicheng gasped and rolled his hips, looking down at him with dark eyes. “You know I’m sensitive when you do that.”

“I know. I like seeing this vulnerability in you.” Yoonoh met his gaze with a wolfish grin and rolled the nipple between his fingers once more. Sicheng shivered with a small moan spilling from his lips, and Yoonoh felt his heart soar. “Your voice is richer than the guzheng. I could never tire of hearing it.”

“Is that what you like most? My voice?” Sicheng pressed his palms against Yoonoh’s chest, shifting his weight to ride faster. Feeling the lines of his stomach, years of training in the barracks giving sharp definition to the ridges of his muscles. Carved out with an artisan touch. Sicheng loved the feeling of Yoonoh’s body under his fingertips. Their eyes met, and Yoonoh thrust up from the mattress. Even without words, they were so attuned to what the other wanted and Yoonoh had learned all of his secrets and weaknesses.

“I like everything about you, my love.” Yoonoh smiled, cheeks pulled up high on either side as if he were about to burst with joy. His hand traveled up to Sicheng’s hair, curling into the long locks behind his neck and pulling him down into a deep kiss. Every time, it stole his breath away as if it were his last. Sicheng, so sweet, nectarous like the persimmons in early autumn. The warmth of Sicheng’s lips around his, their tongues sliding together in a slow exchange was more than Yoonoh could have ever wished for.

“I love you, Sicheng,” he breathed out, panting against Sicheng’s lips. A strained sound emanated from Sicheng’s throat as Yoonoh bucked up harder, faster. Always in sync, they found a pace to match their rising needs. As the intensity rose, so did their breathing, louder, harder, heavier. Yoonoh’s arm wrapped around the small of Sicheng’s back, anchoring himself to the one thing that kept him sane in these moments. His last link to the reality of the world, grounding him from transcending too far into the heavens. 

Sicheng's mouth panted against Yoonoh’s, warm breath mingling as he moaned out. His elbows barely supported his weight, one of either side of Yoonoh’s head as he buried his face in the crook of his neck. Fingers gripped into the messy head of hair, the chestnut silken strands loose and messy from their exertions. “Yoonoh, please…” 

Yoonoh tightened his grip, pulled Sicheng against his chest to thrust harder still. Heels dug into the mattress, bucking up into the heat of his body. His nails left tiny crescents into Sicheng’s side, knowing the marks will be hidden by the layers of fabric. Every sense was overwhelmed by the feeling of Sicheng around him, the smell of him, the taste. All of his world was flooded with Sicheng, and his throat went dry as Sicheng kissed him once more, stealing his breath as if it were his last. 

He felt Sicheng’s thighs trembling on either side of his, the heavy rise and fall of his breath against his chest and he reached between their sweat-coated bodies. Yoonoh took Sicheng in his palm, thumbing over the slit as he began to stroke him with the same speed of his hips. It only took a few flicks of his wrist for Sicheng to come, body taut as he clenched around Yoonoh’s cock, white streaks pulsing across his stomach. Sicheng clutched onto his arms, fingers digging into his biceps as his entire body shook, sweet gasps and moans spilling from his parted lips. The beauty of all of it had Yoonoh tumbling over the edge himself, chasing the lust and yearning after Sicheng. He pulled Sicheng’s lips to his, continuing to meet his thrusts as Sicheng rode out his orgasm. 

“So beautiful, my love. Just a little more for me,” Yoonoh whispered, and Sicheng nodded through broken breaths. Overstimulation caused Sicheng to slip his arms under Yoonoh’s, grasping his shoulders. Yoonoh moaned, gave a final thrust of his hips to bury himself to the hilt. 

“Sicheng…” The name was a prayer on his lips as he came, emptying himself inside. Together like this was all Yoonoh needed in life, no care for the world outside of these walls. His hand came up to cup Sicheng’s cheek, cradling his face in his palms. Gently he brushed his thumbs over the ethereal, post-coital glow dusting them in a rosy red, and kissed the button of his nose. The prince returned the kiss with the most delicate smile, leaning his head against Yoonoh’s chest. 

Time slowed into a crawl as they just laid together, Sicheng resting his chin on his arm as he drew lazy patterns over Yoonoh’s skin. The prominent bone of his collar, the small patch of hair on his chest up to the sharp curve of his jawline. These moments were the best between them, away from the other members of the royal family. It wasn’t like they were missed, Sicheng always tucked away in his room, he was the expendable crown - the middle child. When their father had died the summer following his birthday, Kun had taken his wife and the crown. She quickly blessed him with an heir, their first son, Yangyang, who had just turned a year in age, and a second, Chenle, due within the month. 

But with Yoonoh, none of that mattered and Sicheng was just a man who was loved, and in love. Content and sated, Sicheng rolled to the side and let his head rest on the pillow of Yoonoh’s arm. Limb and legs tangled between the sheets and each other, Yoonoh tracing soothing shapes on his side. He let his body move in time with Yoonoh’s deep breaths, listening to the thump of his heart against his ribcage and the exhale of air through his nose. “Yoonoh, will you always be mine?”

“Am I not already? I have been yours since the day we met and no other.” Yoonoh chuckled lightly, chest rumbling as he ran a hand through Sicheng’s hair. “I could never love anyone as much as I love you. I am yours, in this life, the next, and all others after.”

Sicheng tilted his head up to gaze upon Yoonoh’s divine face, the corners of his lips pulling into a warm smile. His eyelids were heavy, long lashes fluttering against the sleep threatening to overtake them. Yoonoh leaned up from the pillow to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, pulling him closer in a possessive embrace. 

“And I, yours. I love you, Jung Yoonoh, my beloved knight.” Sicheng managed before he succumbed to the exhaustion and drifted off. The comforting safety of Yoonoh’s arms blanketed him in warmth, and he dreamed of oceans and ships. Yoonoh’s dimpled smile beaming as his laugh wafted through on the wind in the sails, the sea salt catching on his golden, sun-kissed skin. 

A beautiful dream of a future that would never come. 

It was foolish to think their life would ever be more than secret trysts behind closed doors. Certainly, there were whispers in the shadows drawing into question the appropriateness of the Prince’s fondness for his knight. Within royal courts, rumors were always present yet despite having spent most of his life growing up in the palace, Yoonoh still barely managed to contain himself. His stomach knotted, twisting and curling and the bitter bile rising in his throat but he swallowed it down, forcing a stoic expression of indifference. Kun made the announcement over the morning meal, seated at the head of the table, golden crown perched atop his hair.

Yoonoh stood to the side, his teeth gritted tight together. Sicheng’s back to him, glued to the plush cushions on the dais. It had been inevitable, this much he knew, but a small, pathetic part of him had hoped they would forget Sicheng and let him be on his own. 

Prince Yuta, of the Nakamoto family to the East. Long had he held the ear of Kun’s advisor, Yong Qin. 

Yong Qin, the fox with a silver tongue and smooth words left ringing in susceptible ears. Cunning, clever and manipulative, eloquent and articulate. Dangerous to keep too close, and more so to keep away. He had been sent to the palace to aid and serve as a liaison between Siam and the Emperor during the Empress’s pregnancy. It was not long after he arrived, she fell ill in the last few months, her body weak and submitting to the sickness. 

Yoonoh had never trusted him, from the moment he stepped into the palace. Dark, cat-like eyes with slicked-back hair, a series of ink paintings and symbols carved into his flesh across the bridge of his nose. The same nose he wanted to bash into the table at this very moment. 

Sicheng stared at his brother, the table between them as his gaze flicked between Kun and Yong Qin. “You want me to marry Prince Yuta? The one that has more consorts and concubines than a whorehouse?”

“His family has offered a very luxurious dowry for you. Further, the political advantage of an allegiance between our kingdoms would greatly benefit the citizens. There is much we can get from Nippon that our agriculture and trade here does not support,” Kun tried to reason, his voice steady and calm. 

Sicheng just shook his head, turning away from his brother. In all their years together, Yoonoh had never seen him so defiant. Had it been any other situation, he would have found Sicheng’s attitude endearing and adorable. He couldn’t see his face from his current position, but the tension in his back and shoulders said more than enough. “What if I refuse? What if I deny him?”

“It would be unwise, as the fallout could result in a war between us. Besides, I think you will find him pleasing enough once you actually give him the chance to get to know you. Every visit he made it here to woo you, you’ve managed to escape spending time with him, for one reason or another.”

Kun’s eyes fell on Yoonoh for a moment, but he let out a sigh and carried on. “It is the best thing for you to do, for the sake of everyone. You will serve your position and your duty to this family.”

“Brother, you might be Emperor now, but you are not Father. You could never match his leadership and authority. He would not have stood for this.” 

“Sicheng, will you at least entertain the idea? Prince Yuta, indiscretions aside, is a good man. His family understands the unique situation of their son’s preferences, and like you, he is not the next in line for the throne. Strong alliances allow for both countries to grow and prosper. It will be good for both kingdoms.”

“And what of me? What about my concerns and what is good for me? Do I have no say in my own life and choices?” Yoonoh could hear the breaking in Sicheng’s voice as he rose to his feet, boldly staring down at his brother. There were a few hushed gasps as he dared to rise above the Emperor.

Kun’s expression softened, lips turned into a small frown as he shook his head with a sigh. “Enough of this argument, Sicheng. We can discuss it more later, when you’ve had time to consider the alternatives. Yoonoh, escort Sicheng back to his chambers. Perhaps you can....reason with him.”

Yoonoh’s back straightened, heels moving together as he bowed deeply from his waist. As he stood again, he caught the Emperor’s disapproving gaze bearing down on him. 

_He knew._

Sicheng led the way, not bothering to wait for Yoonoh to fall in line behind him, proceeding to storm out of the dining chamber. Yoonoh silently followed, a step behind and hesitant to reach out and comfort him. Never before had he witnessed Sicheng’s composure slip as far as it had, his body and hands shaking at his sides. Tears welled up in the corners of Sicheng’s beautiful eyes, lips pulled in a thin line and brows knitted together in a frustrated scowl. It wasn’t until they were safe within the confines of Sicheng’s room that he broke and threw himself into Yoonoh’s open arms. 

“Yoonoh, I -” he began, wrapping himself around the knight’s waist. 

“Shh, my love. It’s not your fault,” Yoonoh whispered, taking his head between his hands. 

In his bottom of his heart, Yoonoh had known though he tried in vain to deny it. All of the nights spent with Sicheng droning on endlessly about children’s stories never had a commoner won the heart of the princess. It was always the high-born noblemen, princes, and royal knights who would receive their happy endings and dreams come true. Never the bastard child, in the service of the royal family out of pity. He was a knight but far from worthy of Sicheng’s love. 

Thoughts went back to the day when he first walked into the grand palace, short legs struggling to keep up with the man who had brought him from his father’s home. He had been told he would be in service of the Emperor and his sons, his life dedicated in the highest honor to them. Yoonoh would be trained to protect and kill if necessary, to defend the prince he would be sworn to. Almost fifteen years, he had basked in the glory of Dong Sicheng and it would soon be brought to an end. The inevitable fate that had always loomed, knowing they could never escape it. 

The emotions were swelling up inside his gut, and Yoonoh had to force the resentment down. No matter what happened from here, he could never resent Sicheng for his position in life. Had either of them been born in a different life, their paths might have never crossed and he would have lost the greatest love he knew. So lost in his thoughts that he didn’t feel the press of Sicheng’s lips against his, slow and painful, already knowing these were limited and few. The kisses grew more passionate, more ardent and Sicheng shoved him down onto the bed, crawling over him in desperation. 

Sicheng straddled Yoonoh’s stomach, his fingers tugging at the silken ties of Yoonoh’s robes. His fingers moved with surprising dexterity as he pulled open the shirt and leaned down, mouth pressed against the skin. He could feel the heat of Yoonoh’s skin under his lips, feel the pounding of his heart throbbing against his sternum. He couldn‘t bear the thought of never being able to have Yoonoh like this again, his love for his knight at war with his sense of obligation and duty. But together like this, Sicheng knew he could never love Prince Yuta a fraction as much as Yoonoh. 

Beneath him, Yoonoh groaned as Sicheng’s lips wrapped around one of his nipples, tugging at the dark bud. He could already feel how hard his majestic knight was, cock straining in his breeches against the curve of his ass. Sicheng grabbed Yoonoh’s wrists in his hands and pinned them above his head into the mattress. His mouth traveled up his collarbone and Yoonoh tilted his head to the side to allow him access to his thick neck. Sicheng was far too happy to take full advantage of how easily Yoonoh gave him whatever he wanted, sucking dark marks into the curve of his neck. Biting, licking, kissing until Yoonoh whined for more. 

“Si-Sicheng,” Yoonoh whispered through broken gasps. His back arched up from the mattress, chasing the friction of Sicheng’s hips grinding down on his painfully hard erection. 

An answer to his prayers came when Sicheng slipped his hand into Yoonoh’s breeches, wrapping around him. Sicheng stroked his length, thumb sweeping over the slit as it caught the tiny pearls and beads of cum forming at the head. His touch was teasing, gentle as if he were afraid to hurt Yoonoh any more than the announcement of his marriage already had. He leaned down, sealing their lips together in a delicate, velvety kiss, his free hand cupping Yoonoh’s cheek. 

Yoonoh always loved how Sicheng would guide him, easing him, leading him when he wanted to take control. Sicheng had a way of stealing the very air from his lungs, leaving him gasping for more. The rush of oxygen filling his lungs when their kisses would break, his mind overwhelmed from the sensations of Sicheng’s mouth and body against his. 

“Please, Sicheng….,” he barely managed to get out. His hand moved up to embrace Sicheng’s cheek, trembling as he did. Scared his lowly, common touch would shatter the last vestiges of their love. 

Fingers, Sicheng had always loved. Long, beautiful, skilled. Elegant and strong. He took Yoonoh’s hand in his own, nuzzling into the palm to press his lips against it. He guided his hand down to the clasps of his robes and together, they began to undo the bindings keeping them closed. Sicheng shifted back as Yoonoh sat up to slide the robes over his shoulders. They kissed, slower than before, a gentle caress of their lips moving in tandem with each other. 

“Yoonoh, will you let me inside you?” Sicheng breathed out, letting his hand dip once more into the waistband of Yoonoh’s breeches. Yoonoh’s cock was hard and heavy in his palm, the crown slick and glistening with the beads of precum forming at the tip. The sweet, delectable nectar of the gods hosted inside. 

Yoonoh nodded, the faintly audible whine escaping his lips as Sicheng shifted off of his lap so he could turn to his hands and knees. Behind him, the Prince undressed the remainder of his clothes, Yoonoh watching as he stood from the bed and retrieved a small basin of oil from the dresser. Sicheng joined him on the bed, a warm hand slid up his thigh until it reached his ass. There was a gentle squeeze of the flesh as Sicheng settled behind him and leaned down to kiss the spot between Yoonoh’s shoulders. Slowly, he worked his way down Yoonoh’s spine, leaving a trail down to the small of his back. 

Sicheng took his time, ever patient in making Yoonoh open up for him. No matter how much he wanted his knight, he would never rush the beauty of having him so turned on and begging under him. Sweet words whispered against the flesh as his fingers worked inside, spreading him open and sending a current of shivers through his body. He decorated the pristine flesh with kisses and love marks, showing the world who Yoonoh belonged to and served. An array of pink and red spots blooming like the plum blossoms in Spring. His plum blossom - pure and brave and noble. Like the winter, harsh on the outside to anyone who dared to threaten Sicheng but beautiful to him. 

As Sicheng’s fingers slid in and out of him, the oil created a wonderfully obscene slick sound as Yoonoh felt the low pricks of pleasure sparking inside of him. Despite the number of times they've done this by now, it still overwhelmed him as much as the first. Sicheng’s fingers curled inside, pressing into the bundle of nerves. Yoonoh had to bury his head into the pillow to muffle the moans spilling from his lips. The exquisite arch of his back as he pushed back further onto Sicheng’s long fingers, a desperate grasp on the blankets between his hands. He scrambled for some purchase, something to keep him from losing himself to the profound pleasure engulfing all of his senses. 

“So perfect, my beloved,” Sicheng whispered against Yoonoh’s back. His fingers slowly slip free, withdrawing from the heat of Yoonoh’s body and taking up the oils once more. The light scents floated in the air, covering the scent of sex and sweat in the room with a soft blanket of jasmine and saffron. Sicheng coated himself with a liberal amount of the oil, over the head and shaft and applied more still to Yoonoh’s entrance. 

When Sicheng pressed, it became a whirlwind of sensations and emotions. Yoonoh barely had time to process the feeling of Sicheng, deep and full inside of him. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, trying to contain the passionate burn growing beneath his skin. All of Sicheng, everywhere and all over. Every part of his body felt like it had melted together, Sicheng fucking into him at a slow, drawn-out pace. Each thrust of his hips drove Yoonoh a little more up the bed, grasping at the sheets as he panted against them. 

Each of them chased their pleasure, together reaching for the crushing tidal waves to wash over them. Sicheng adored the sweet-sounding moans floating from Yoonoh’s lips, the pressure building as the breathless whimpers tumbled freely in the air. Sounds of skin against skin, panting and grunting as they gave themselves to each other. Between them, so much spoken and yet left unsaid. He reached around Yoonoh’s waist, wrapping a hand around his leaking cock and the sensitive head.

“My sweet love, you are glorious like this. Release for me, let me see you,” Sicheng grunted against the shell of Yoonoh’s ear. 

And the bass of Sicheng’s voice against his neck became too much. All thoughts in Yoonoh’s mind were gone, left with only the burning heat consuming him as he came. His entire body tormented with an explosion of warmth as he coated Sicheng’s fingers and the sheets with his cum. Sicheng stroked him through his orgasm, hips still thrusting to find his own as Yoonoh’s body convulsed and tightened around him. 

It was not long after that Sicheng gave a final thrust, settling deep within Yoonoh with a moan. “Yoonoh…” he panted out, voice hoarse as he reveled in the feeling of Yoonoh squeezing around him as he spilled his seed inside. The warm wetness dribbled out of the side, sliding down Yoonoh’s perineum over his sack as he gave small, shallow thrusts to ride out his climax. Yoonoh milked him for every drop he could, and Sicheng collapsed over his back. 

Sicheng pulled Yoonoh flushed against him as he turned to the side, laying down on the bed as he reluctantly slipped out. Immediately, he missed the feeling of being buried inside of Yoonoh. The room was silent save for the deep, sated breaths filling the air. Sicheng began to stroke Yoonoh’s arm, nuzzling into the crook of his neck in a trail of butterfly kisses along his shoulder. Already the blossoming marks paint a devoted picture of their love across them. 

It was then, in the silence, Yoonoh’s mind veered into the thoughts he knew he could not avoid. Sicheng pressed into his back, arms tight around his waist. The remnants of their love and sins painted between his thighs and over the sheets, once warm turned cold. How much more time did they have? How much longer would they be able to enjoy each other so freely?

*****

Outside, the moon begins its descent in the night sky, slowly rolling towards the horizon. Yoonoh looks down at the Prince, gently drifting between consciousness and slumber in his arms. The torch fires crackling against the brick walls, the echo fills Yoonoh’s ears. He watches the stars moving across their midnight field, the occasional streak of a losing wishing star and he wishes he could have hope.

Yoonoh remembers his father, a man of conviction and honesty. He remembers stories of heaven beyond the reach of the stars, a utopian paradise without pain or suffering. A place where soldiers were honored for their battles, lost children reunited with their mothers, long-lost lovers joined together for eternity in the afterlife. The stories his father had told him still ring fresh in his memories, especially with the slowly encroaching dawn. 

It’s there, in that dream world of fantasy and impossible hopes, that Yoonoh now spends his last few hours. His home with Sicheng, near the beach with the ocean spray on their faces as the water glistened under the sun’s golden rays. Their bodies, tanned from spending hours outside, wrapped in each other and covered with traces of their love. A small garden with Sicheng’s favorite flowers growing along with the crops he would tend to. Preparing meals, with Sicheng helping him with the cooking over an open fire. He could never let Sicheng dirty his hands with menial work. Sicheng dancing before the fireplace, shadows cast about his form as he moved and swayed to music only they could hear. Heaven, so far out of his reach and preposterous. Heaven was Sicheng. 

Sicheng stirs in his arms, and Yoonoh watches his eyes slowly blink open. His grip on Yoonoh’s shoddy tunic tenses, clutching onto him as the tears begin to spill once more. Somewhere in the night, he had dozed off and lost precious moments too soon gone. Yoonoh says nothing, simply embraces Sicheng tighter in his arms. The fabric of the tunic scratches his face, irritating the skin but he couldn’t care less. It smells vaguely of Yoonoh and Sicheng wishes he could take the shirt with him when he has to —

“Go. The sun will be rising soon, Sicheng. I don’t want you to see them taking me,” Yoonoh’s voice interrupts, and Sicheng bolts up on the cot. A look of shock and betrayal on his face as he tries to meet Yoonoh’s gaze but his knight averts his eyes. 

“I cannot leave you like this, Yoonoh,” Sicheng begs, and he feels trapped in a nightmare where he cannot save his beloved. Yet he too knows the infeasibility of it. Yoonoh doesn’t respond and sits up next to him. Sicheng’s clinging to him as soon as he can position Yoonoh between his legs, leaning back against the cell wall. His arms wrap around Yoonoh’s waist and he draws him closer, and takes a shuddering breath in. This, the dawn of Yoonoh’s death, he cannot let him go a moment sooner than he must. He closes his eyes and the time slips away, flowing so freely out of their grasp. 

Yoonoh savors in the last warmth of Sicheng’s arms, arms he had made his pillars of devotion and strength. Everything with Sicheng has been a summer’s dream, a fool’s paradise that was the core of his life. He tries to commit all of it, the majority of his to memory. 

“Sicheng, I love you. Promise me, you’ll be happy.”

The words hang heavy in the air and neither of them says anything else. Until Sicheng scoffs, and shakes his head. 

“I cannot make a promise you know I cannot keep. My only happiness in this world and the next is here in my arms. I have no use for this life without you.”

Sicheng feels his heart catch in his chest and he takes a shaky breath in, kissing the crown of Yoonoh’s head. He knows he will never smile again, waking up to an empty bed after years spent with his cavalier at his side. How much colder the sheets will be, the long nights seemingly longer than before. Eventually, waking up to a man he knows will never match Yoonoh. 

“No, Sicheng. Your life is worth more than a thousand of mine. You must let me go after this, and I will cherish the time we had together.” Yoonoh lifts Sicheng’s hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to each of his knuckles. He takes his lover's hand to his chest, letting him feel the pounding of his heart at their proximity. The effect that Sicheng always has over him, even after all this time.

*****

Yoonoh lay with Sicheng in bed, arm draped over his waist as Sicheng’s finger raked through his hair. The summer air blew through the open screen window, a book long forgotten resting on the mattress beside them. Spent from their activities, they basked in the haze of each other’s company. Away from the company of others, Sicheng avoided any meetings with Prince Yuta as well as he could manage.

“Yoonoh?” 

Yoonoh tipped his chin up to look at Sicheng and smiled, drawn into the magnetic pull of his chocolate eyes and full lips. Sicheng’s gaze upon him was heavy and intense, in a way that made Yoonoh feel like he was about to combust. His cheeks warmed and flushed, the bright tint spreading to the tips of his ears. He found it impossible to look away, and he leaned forward to capture the Prince’s lips with his own. 

Sicheng chuckled, reciprocating the kiss with more intensity, his love for Yoonoh insatiable. As he pulled away, his gaze darkened as he sighed. “My love, how long have you served my family?”

“Fifteen years this spring. Why do you ask?” Yoonoh whispered, his heart falling into Sicheng’s hands at the tone. He felt the constricting pressure squeezing down around him, threatening to crush his very life. 

“Fifteen,” Sicheng repeated. Fear laced his words, almost desperate as he continued. The fingers dancing over Yoonoh’s ribs stilled, freezing in their path. “You know my world is centered around you, and I am yours alone, right?”

The question came out on the wisp of a breath, so low even Yoonoh barely caught it. His mind raced, trying to discern where this was suddenly coming from. Such turmoil and conflict in Sicheng’s voice and hesitation in his touch despite having just felt every part of him so intimately moments before. “As you are mine.”

“You would do anything for me, yes?” Sicheng’s words were laced with pain, and Yoonoh couldn't fight the wrenching in his gut. 

“Sicheng...you’re worrying me. Tell me what is happening.” 

At first, Sicheng didn’t answer. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath as he rolled out of Yoonoh’s embrace. Sicheng sat on the edge of the bed, back to his lover as he looked around the room, taking in the garish decorations and ornamentation. “I hate this place.”

“Sicheng…” Yoonoh began, sitting up in bed. He moved behind Sicheng and peppered tender kisses on his shoulder. 

“Let’s run away from here.” Sicheng’s voice was like a scream in the silence, even if it was spoken on a butterfly’s wing. 

It was selfish, Sicheng knew that. Unreasonable and ridiculous. The stories he read as a child, fairy tales of true love and magic spells...princes didn’t marry the peasants. But if they weren’t in this life, away from the palace and the court, away from arranged marriages of convenience and politics….then their fates might be different. None of it mattered though if he didn’t have Yoonoh at his side. 

“Are you serious? Sicheng...you can’t leave your home, your family. Where would we even go?” 

“Anywhere but here. You are my home and family, Yoonoh. Wherever you are is enough for me to be content. My title is nothing to me, and I would live the rest of my life with you away from here. Will you come with me?”

There was an edginess to Sicheng’s voice, his lower lip quivering as he looked over to Yoonoh. He struggled to keep the tears in his eyes at bay, the corners spilling over and rolling down his cheeks. 

The sight had Yoonoh’s nodding in agreement, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He reached forward to take Sicheng’s face between his hands and kissed away the tears, his thumb sliding over the trail left behind. “I will always go where you go. My life has, and will always be yours. I’ll make arrangements for us to leave within a week then.”

Yoonoh drew Sicheng closer, wrapping his arms tightly around the Prince’s waist as he pulled them back down to the mattress. Despite the itch tickling the back of his neck, Yoonoh knew Sicheng had already settled on this and nothing would have changed his decision from this point. The only thing he could do was pray to the gods, asking forgiveness for his pride and greed in wanting Sicheng. With any luck, if the gods favored him enough, they would find their happiness. Their own heaven, a land of milk and sweet honey, waiting for them.


	3. Even The Days I Feared

Yoonoh rubbed a soothing hand down the horse’s neck with a low tutting, doing his best to calm the beast despite the cry of wolves in the distance and the crooked terrain of the forests. Sicheng shivered and drew his cloak tighter around himself. The wind was particularly fierce, and Yoonoh had no doubt they were being followed at this point. They moved silently and had covered ground quickly enough. Still, he suspected Yong Qin’s guards were trailing them. Like rats on a barge, he had them hidden in all corners of the kingdom, ears in the winds and on the wings of crows and ravens. Yoonoh’s right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.

“We should cross the river at the next pass,” he whispered, turning to look up at Sicheng in the moonlight, still atop the horse’s back. The silver light of the moon cast him in a celestial glow, and for a moment, Yoonoh thought he was looking up at Chang’e herself. If Sicheng was Chang’e, then like Hou Yi, he would chase him to the moon and back out of love and devotion.

Around them, the wind picked up and howled through the tall bamboo, the branches creaking as they swayed back and forth. Yoonoh tensed, his back straightened as the chill ran down. Beside him, the horse shifted on his hooves, nostrils flaring as he let out a frustrated huff. There was a movement through the bushes, a snap of a twig, and Yoonoh’s sword drawn at the ready. 

“Careful, sir, we don’t want to hurt a hair on that pretty head of yours.” A man stepped into the path, and immediately Yoonoh recognized him as the young captain, Yukhei. The captain bowed his head, placing a fist to his chest as he turned to address Sicheng. “Your Highness, we have come to take you back to your brother.”

“You have come in vain then. I do not intend to return,” Sicheng answered cooly, sitting straighter on his horse. His grip tightened on the reins, and he glanced down to see the fear in Yoonoh’s eyes. “Let us pass.”

“I am terribly sorry, my Prince, but I must follow the orders of the Emperor and Yong Qin to bring you safely back to the kingdom. Please do not make this any harder than it needs to be.” Yukhei's hand moved to the sword at his hip, as he let out a low whistle. 

Yoonoh watched as the captain moved around them, eyes following each step when eight more of the Emperor’s guard joined them. All men who had been like brothers to him, trained since their youth alongside him. All now surrounded them, swords in hand as though he and Sicheng were little more than common thieves. The youngest, Guanheng, swallowed when Yoonoh locked onto his nervous gaze. 

"And what if we don't?" Yoonoh tested, though he already knew the answer. 

"Then you will die here and we still bring the Prince back to the palace. At least there you can beg forgiveness before the Emperor and hope he is lenient with you." 

It was Dejun who answered with a tilt of his head. He lifted the tip of his sword, the point just level with Yoonoh's cheek. Too close for comfort when the blade brushed against it, scraping close enough to shave down the fine hairs along his jaw. "To think all this time you were keeping comfort in the Prince's bed…I always heard whispers in the walls about how sweet he could be."

“Leave him out of this, Dejun,” Yoonoh practically growled under his breath, leaning away from the sharp edge of the sword under his nose. The horse shifted its weight, stamping its hoof into the ground in annoyance, and Yoonoh, too, shared the sentiment. Like the horse, he was ready to run and be free of this but they were surrounded and outnumbered. Fates never smiled on those like him. “What would it take to let us go?”

“A price you couldn’t afford, my friend. Yong Qin promised us a hefty reward for bringing back the traitor, Jung Yoonoh. Land to possess and rule, gold to last a lifetime, and a title, respect. A life far better than what we started with, and far better than we could ever have otherwise.” 

Yukhei cautiously stepped closer. His hand reached for the reins as he looked up at the Prince, an amused smile on his face. “Will you try to fight your way out of this? You know you will lose, Your Highness. Please, do not be rash for I would regret the results of any sudden decisions.” 

Never before had Yoonoh felt so at a loss for what to do. Part of him screamed to fight and protect Sicheng, the one task he had sworn to do. His single goal in life — a failure. To provide for Sicheng whatever his heart desired, freedom and love, and a life of happiness. The foolish boy who reached for the sun’s embrace, soaring over the gleaming water. Crashing into the waves and rocks below, with no one to save them. 

It all happened too fast for anyone to react, not even Yukhei or Sicheng. The blade of Yoonoh’s sword moved with fluid precision as he swung upward from his hip. All of his emotions, frustrations followed through the move, granting him leverage and raw strength. 

Flesh and bone, cut clean through in one motion. Yukhei’s arm severed from his body, falling to the ground with a thump. Rivers of warm crimson sprayed forth from the wound, and Yukhei went down to his knee with a chilling scream of anguish, clutching the remaining stump. 

In a flash, the other guards were on Yoonoh, the cold earth beneath him. Their weight bore down, sword kicked from his hand and Yoonoh fought against their hold to no avail. Dirt filled his lungs as they struggled to keep him pinned. Sicheng’s screams rang in his ears, snapping Yoonoh back into reality. Immediately he sought out the Prince’s gaze. Yoonoh managed to turn his head enough to see Guanheng holding him back, away from the fight. All Yoonoh could do was mouth his apologies and his love, drowned out by the chaos around them yet carried on the winds to Sicheng’s ears. If it hadn’t already been a lost cause before, it certainly was now. 

*****

Yoonoh takes his time, memorizing all of Sicheng’s features. 

His beautiful, beloved Prince and a weak smile forces itself onto his face. So much he wants to say, but the words would only hurt him more. He can’t bear the thought of causing any more pain than he must.

The low golden flames from the torches outside of his cell shine in the watery depths of Sicheng’s eyes. Taking Sicheng’s hand, Yoonoh pulls him closer and sucks in a deep breath, letting the scent of Sicheng’s perfume and wash calm him. One of them has to be strong, and Yoonoh considers it his final duty. 

“You must marry Prince Yuta, Sicheng.”

Sicheng winces and pulls back, the anguish evident in his face. “Don’t be ridiculous Yoonoh. I could never love anyone but you.”

“I do not ask you to love him, though you deserve to love again and be loved a hundredfold. But you deserve a life, family, happiness. You deserve someone who can take care of you and protect you, my Prince. My life ends tomorrow and with it my service to you.” Yoonoh smoothes back the stray strands of Sicheng’s hair, the thick silk gliding between his fingers like midnight waters. He cups Sicheng’s face and presses a somber kiss to his forehead. 

Thin arms wrap around his waist, Sicheng’s tear-streaked face pressing into his chest. Sicheng shakes in his hold, fighting back gasping sobs. It makes Yoonoh’s blood boil knowing how much suffering his Prince endures because of him. Lifting his cheeks, Yoonoh runs his thumbs over the noble cheekbones, his fingers gently pressing into Sicheng’s neck. 

“Yong Qin will not give you any other choice. His claws in this kingdom and next run deep and sharp in their hold. He will not let you be happy otherwise.”

The clinking of keys draws closer and they both know the guards come for a final time. But the sound falls on deaf ears, Yoonoh too absorbed in Sicheng to care. Sicheng hears them too, his eyes widening as he realizes and the grip on Yoonoh’s tunic tightens. 

“Yoonoh, I— I can’t,” he chokes, the large doe eyes imploring and desperate as he shakes his head.

The meek voice pierces Yoonoh’s heart, a fresh wound spilling out. Yoonoh feels the last vestiges of his strength falling, fading with the dying light from the torches. If Sicheng were to ask Yoonoh to lasso the moon, he would find a way. 

Yet there is nothing he can do, except pull Sicheng’s lips to his. It’s delicate, tender and Yoonoh pours all of what he can into it. Sicheng weeps into the kiss, grasping on to the last touch just to hold him a little longer. 

One of the guards clears his throat. Once, and twice again before they pull apart. The pure torment on Sicheng’s face as he steps back. Neither looks away, even when the guards open the door and start to pull the Prince from Yoonoh’s cell. 

“Go, Sicheng. Live and love, seek happiness.” Yoonoh whispers as he watches Sicheng climb the steps until he’s gone from view. Even then, his eyes never leave the shadows climbing further until those too disappear.

The last burning cinders fall from the torches outside and Yoonoh takes a shaky breath in. There are only a few hours left, and Sicheng is gone. He’s tired, exhausted, and drained. He shuffles over the pathetic, empty cot and buries his face into it. The faintest trace of Sicheng’s scent lingers, barely there but it’s all he has left. 

He stays there until sleep comes, and all that remains is just...waiting. 

*****

Yoonoh drowned out Yong Qin’s speech, about pomp and traditions, loyalty and honor. About duty and responsibility, and how Yoonoh was corruption cast upon the royal family. No longer did he care, his wrists were bloodied and bruised, the metal chains digging into the skin. He didn’t even bother looking up at the Emperor and his advisor — he knew Sicheng was not in the king’s chambers. 

Nothing mattered anymore….until the doors swung open and those around him let out a soft gasp, murmurs spreading like a brushfire. Only then did Yoonoh lift his head and turn his head to glance over his shoulder. 

“I refuse to allow you to do this, Yong Qin. Yoonoh did nothing wrong,” came Sicheng’s voice, steady and collected despite his breath wavering. He marched across the royal chambers to the dais, robes billowing behind him as he peered at the advisor standing beside his brothers. 

To Sicheng, Kun had never seemed so intimidating but seated upon the golden throne, head bearing the heavy crown marking his status. His gut twisted but he kept his pace, holding his chin high as he stopped just before the steps rising to the throne. He bowed his head, acknowledging his brother. “Your Majesty.”

The guards tightened their grip on Yoonoh’s chains, the sound of cold metal clinking together filling the room. Yong Qin’s gaze remained cool, indifferent as the young Prince stood before the throne. 

“Prince Sicheng, you should not be here. This man is a traitor to the Crown,” the advisor spoke, his talon-like fist gripping the back of the throne. “Perhaps you do not remember-”

“I remember everything, Yong Qin. I went with him voluntarily. We left the capital together, intending to start a life far away from the palace.” Sicheng turned to look at Yoonoh, but the former guard kept his focus on the floor beneath him, unmoving, head down in the presence of the Emperor.

“Sicheng,” Kun began, his eyes wide as he regarded his brother. The color drained from his face as he looked up to his advisor, who gave a solemn nod. “Sicheng, why do you defend him? Do you not realize he gained your trust only to use you for his own carnal pleasures and to kidnap you? Yong Qin has evidence he made to sell you into slavery to the highest bidder outside of the palace.”

At this Yoonoh’s head snapped up, dark eyes widening as he frantically shook his head at the accusations against him. He made a pathetic attempt to stand, pulling on his chains as he fought against the restraints. 

“No! Lies! Sicheng, I-” Yoonoh shouted but one of the guards sent a crushing blow to his ribs with a steel-gloved fist. His words cut off as he doubled over onto the floor, lungs gasping for air. He managed a sharp intake as he coughed, drops of blood splattering against the jade marble floor. The guards grabbed onto his arms, hauling him up to his knees once again.

“Silence, traitor! You will not speak in the presence of the Emperor!” Yong Qin’s harsh voice echoed off the walls. One of the guards accentuated his point by shoving the blunt hilt of his sword into Yoonoh’s side, an audible crack as it landed on his ribs. 

As Yoonoh cried out in agony, Sicheng spun around, his immaculate face aghast as the guards jerked upward on the chains. The metal shackles dug into his wrists, cutting into the flesh deep enough to begin drawing fresh blood. Desperately, Sicheng sought to meet Yoonoh’s gaze, but his knight hid his face away from him. He turned back to face his brother, fighting to maintain his composure yet the pillars of strength in his heart were quickly succumbing to the pressure. 

“Brother, I am begging you to reconsider this. He has been like family to you! He has dutifully served this family, and me for years! Since we were all children! Does that mean nothing to you?” Sicheng’s voice carried through the chamber, trying to find the words that could persuade Kun but he knew the answer. 

Blood relations mattered not to the title of Emperor and Kun was dedicated and steadfast to his position. 

His gaze drifted to Renjun, seated on the smallest throne to the left of Kun. The heartbreak and betrayal in his young, somber eyes. Sicheng wondered if he understood the gravity of the situation, of the accusations against Yoonoh.

“Ah, yeah, we all know too well how this bastard has served you, Prince Sicheng. Tell me, if this man were any other, would you protest nearly as much? You do not understand the precarious situation you have put yourself, and this kingdom, in with your foolishness.” Yong Qin scoffed with a roll of his eyes. He cocked his head towards the door and the guards nodded at his signal. The chains were jerked up and Yoonoh was forced to stand once more, wobbling as he took to his feet as best as he could with the shackles around them. 

Sicheng balled his fists at his side, trying to maintain what little composure he had left. “If this were any other man, would  _ you  _ care so much? What bothers you most, Yong Qin? That I take him instead of that ridiculous Prince you have planned? What benefits you in this arrangement? What promises have they offered you in exchange? Or perhaps, is it your jealousy? That I would love a -” 

“Enough! Sicheng, my decision is final! Jung Yoonoh, for your heinous crimes against the royal family, our family that took you in - fed you, clothed you, shared our house and home with you, a pathetic bastard son sent here to protect and serve! You have betrayed our trust, assaulted the Prince, my brother, kidnapped him with the conspiracy to sell him like a piece of meat, and for that, you will be executed at week’s end! Take him to the cells!” Kun bellowed over the others before Sicheng could argue further. He stood, waving the guards away with a billowy sleeve. “Sicheng, I am asking you—” 

“Brother, please!” Sicheng dropped to his knees before the throne, hitting the floor as he shook his head and looked up to Kun. The bitter lump in his throat only grew, making it near impossible to breathe. The agony in his gut wrenched, realizing there was nothing he could do to prevent Yoonoh’s fate. The guards dragged him out of the Emperor’s chambers and Yoonoh did not resist, knowing it was futile.

*****

It’s early morning, the damp cold biting through the cell. The palace is still blanketed in darkness when the shuffle of several pairs of boots moves across the uneven, stone floor. 

The guard slams his sword into the iron bars, jerking Yoonoh from his sleep. He glances over his shoulder, glaring at the two men outside of his cell, and makes no effort to move from the floor. He’s in no hurry to rise, acutely aware of the cutting pain where the rusted iron shackles are chewing through his wrists and ankles. It would be easier to just drift away, fade out into a blissful unconsciousness, and just be done with it. He never did understand the need for such a spectacle, creating an example of someone and to what purpose? 

“Get the fuck up, traitor. I want this done before breakfast,” one guard snarls, the clinking of his keys against the locks on the door. 

Yoonoh rested his eyes for a moment, his back still to the door as he did not acknowledge the guard’s request. Though death would soon let him rest forever, he supposes he should savior what little use his eyes have left. He doesn’t fight when the guards enter his cell, dragging him to his feet, nor does it make it easy and allows his dead weight to sag in their arms. A harsh slap against his back urges him forward, stumbling over his weary feet as the guards escort him up the stairs from the prison. 

He is no longer the strong, proud knight he had once been, instead an empty husk of a man whose only true crime was love. 

Day breaks just above the horizon, casting the palace in a hue of orange and dark red as night recedes. It’s a quiet walk across the now-empty courtyard, past the fountains where he had once dared to steal a kiss from Sicheng. The gardens overflowing with the scent of magnolias just before they bloom, where he had hidden away from prying eyes with Sicheng in his arms, thrusting into him under the summer sun. Through the tall arches that divide the palace from the surrounding markets and noble houses, where he had first entered fifteen years ago. 

The gallows stand in the distance, drawing closer with each step he makes, and Yoonoh falters, stumbling over the chains at his feet. The weight slows his steps, and each step fills him with dread. 

But no, he will not let the guards see him so defeated and he forces himself to be strong, if only for a little longer. He straightens his spine as he finds his footing, raising his chin to walk with his head held high. He forces himself to walk, proud to have served his country. Proud to have served his Prince. His Sicheng. 

Yoonoh is surprised to see the crowd gathered around the raised stage, the early morning not enough to deter the thrill of seeing a public execution. Especially a high-ranking member of the royal court. Most of the commoners avert their eyes as the guards move through the crowd, the faint murmurs and whispers of his crimes passing alongside him. They are already dressed in celebration of his death, drab greys and blacks a sharp contrast to his white robes. 

He ascends the wooden steps, and time seems to slow to a crawl. He feels every breath in his chest, the air filling his lungs as he climbs, twelve steps to reach the top platform. His heart pounds against his sternum, a rapid  _ th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.  _ The last few precious moments, fleeting from his grasp and when Yoonoh looks out across the crowd, he sees him. 

Flawless, beautiful, as always. His Sicheng. Standing next to his brother, watching every move with intent. 

Yoonoh can see the swollen rims of his eyes, puffy and red no doubt from crying most of the night. At this moment, he cares for nothing else save for the love of his life. Not the magistrate reading off his crimes, nor Yong Qin’s sinister sneer from behind Kun. He watches the tears welling up in Sicheng’s eyes once more and feels the wetness rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t care what he looks like at this point, his nose running and lip trembling as all he can do is mouth a mantra of undying love and devotion to Sicheng. Words lost on the wind as he repeats them over and over, apologizing for failing to keep his promises. 

The bells begin to ring, the first of the twenty-eight tolls, resonating deep within the courtyard, echoing out across the palace and carried through the mountains. A toll for salvation, a symbol of hope and enlightenment. Yoonoh keeps his gaze locked onto Sicheng, committing every aspect to memory, the last vision of radiance and light in his life. Not even the golden sun itself could compare. 

He wants to find a way out, to make some desperate attempt to get to Sicheng. To find even the slimmest chance they could still be together. He would be dead before he made it three steps from the platform. The shackles are too heavy, his limbs are drained of their strength and energy.

Yoonoh feels the noose slip over his neck, the coarse fibers digging into his neck as the guard tightens and checks the knot again. 

Already the rope creates a light pressure around his throat, and he chokes back the urge to scream out at the top of his lungs. He will not give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out though the tears down his face do not lie. 

Yoonoh is scared, for the first in a long time. For Sicheng, and what will happen to him after he is gone. How soon will Yong Qin agree to marry him off to Yuta? Will he even wait for the cold to sweep into his bones? Will he allow Sicheng to grieve, even if only privately for the sake of the royal image? Would Sicheng find love again, and allow himself to be loved? He deserves true happiness fitting of his position, not the life Yoonoh would have given him - poor and penniless, living a peasant’s life. 

The bells continue to chime, the clear sound solemn as Yoonoh takes a shaky breath in, feeling every muscle expand in his chest. 

And then there is peace. Through the whirlwind of his emotions, all of them come to a halt, and the bells ring, breaking the agony and anguish in his heart. Yoonoh smiles, free of everything save for one thing - his love. He is tired, exhausted, and bears no ill-will at this moment, calmness in his acceptance of his fate.

His eyes never leave Sicheng’s, not even when the wooden plank beneath his feet gives way. Not even when he takes the short drop allowed to him, and the rope tightens around his throat. He feels his body fighting for air, his throat struggling to get any hope of oxygen but there is no pain. Only his love and that carries him through to the other side, even when his body has gone still, swaying in the gentle breeze.

In the distance, the bells continue to ring, drawing closer to the end of the morning, the last of the dawning tolls.

Across the courtyard, Sicheng lets out a wrecked sob as he breaks, falling to his knees with a scream. His body rocks back and forth, holding onto his arms as he wishes for Yoonoh’s embrace yet knowing he never will again. He can’t look, his magnificent knight’s heavenly features twisted and contorted in death. He can hear the faint whispers throughout the crowd as people risk a glance at him, less-than-subtle points in his direction from the crowd of onlookers. Behind him, he feels someone’s hand slide over his shoulder, probably Kun. There is a gentle squeeze and then it’s gone, leaving him alone on the platform. 

His hands fall to his side, and he stares at the taut rope. The lingering bells ring out their final call, clear and distinct as the twenty-eighth toll is struck. The sound reverberates through Sicheng’s core, and his body sways. The  _ clink-clink-clink  _ of the chains dragging against the dirt fills his ears. 

Without Yoonoh, Sicheng truly is alone. All that remains for him is a life of pain, no reprieve, or salvation. A fate far worse and cruel than death. His heart is gone, empty and lost to the shadows in the break of dawn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!
> 
> I really loved this story and this pairing, and I apologize that it took so long for the last chapter but I had such a hard getting out the final few scenes. 
> 
> Again, big thank you to the JaeWin fest mods for letting us post these and letting me use the prompt. To whoever prompted the original fic, way back in the day, I hope this meets your expectations.


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